


Not Then, Not Yet

by Euterpein



Series: Pride Wives 2020 [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1960s, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Queer History, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24847696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: Crowley goes to visit Aziraphale six months after receiving the thermos in the hopes that she can smooth things over for both their sakes. Instead, she finds the angel throwing a very special party. Reunions are had, speeches are made, and Aziraphale reveals more than she had ever dared.It's not what they both want, but at least they know they're in it together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Pride Wives 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1769128
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: Pride Wives 2020





	Not Then, Not Yet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fourth and final week of the Ineffable Wives server’s Pride Wives 2020 event! Week four’s prompt was “Community.” 
> 
> CW: historical homophobia (implied, not pictured), including references to those lost to hate crimes.

28 July 1967, London.

Crowley's fingertips beat a nervous, staccato rhythm against the leather of the Bentley's steering wheel as she cruised down Soho's busy streets. She hadn't seen Aziraphale since _the incident_ with the thermos almost six months ago, and was finding the prospect of seeing her again now both terrifying and like she might well burst if it didn't happen soon. 

Which was _ridiculous._ They had gone centuries without seeing each other before, gone _millennia_. Admittedly their encounters had become much more frequent in the last two thousand years or so, and Crowley had grown... used to seeing Aziraphale on something like a regular basis, but that didn't change the fact that six months was a blip on the radar for the both of them. 

Still, she couldn't deny that the itch was there. The desire to see her angel-- _the_ angel--it had been scratching at the back of her mind since practically the beginning of Creation and had only grown louder and more insistent every time their paths crossed. It had become familiar to Crowley. A part of her. 

And it hadn’t gone away after Aziraphale had given her the holy water, since she had said the words that had kept Crowley staring sleeplessly up at her ceiling nearly every night for the past six months. If anything, it had intensified it. But Crowley had resisted. Had stayed away. She had tried to be mindful of overstepping, tried to give the angel her space, terrified that another slip-up could damage their relationship forever. Terrified that she already had.

Crowley pulled the Bentley up to the curb down the street from the bookshop and just breathed for a few moments. She adjusted the rear-view to try and get a look at her reflection. Her look hadn’t changed much in the past few years; her hair was straight and parted in the middle, hanging nearly down to the small of her back, and the black turtle neck with black trousers was still very much in fashion. She was actually pretty sure she had been wearing this exact thing the night the angel had interrupted her heist planning. 

She had a brief, intense urge to turn around and go back to her flat in Mayfair and forget this ever happened. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. She grasped at the keys in the ignition and made to turn them, but her hand refused to move. Her eyes flicked up to look through the windshield towards the bookshop. She _needed_ to see Aziraphale or she might burst, could hear the siren song of her in her head. It didn’t have to be anything big, didn’t have to _mean_ anything. She would knock, say hello, maybe have a few drinks. Soak up whatever tiny crumbs of affection she could from the celestial being she had been completely gone on for very nearly six thousand years and was also her hereditary enemy. What could go wrong?

Right.

She grabbed the bottle of (ridiculously expensive) scotch she had acquired for just this occasion and slid out of the front seat of the Bentley. She let the nonchalance and swagger that had served her well as a shield over the millennia settle over her once again, her hips swinging and a cocky grin curling at her lips. She sauntered down the street casually until she was almost at the bookshop, then paused. 

There were three men leaning against the outside of the bookshop’s tall windows, smoking and chatting quietly with each other. This wasn’t necessarily an unusual occurrence; it was Soho, after all. However, the music spilling out onto the street from inside the shop was definitely unusual. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s usual fair of classical composers. It was music that was both _new_ and _loud_ , audible as it was all the way out in the street. The men looked up at her as she hesitated outside the shop, curiously. They were all youngish and dressed in a slightly off-beat fashion. Their trousers were cuffed up, their shirts tighter and sleeves shorter than was really acceptable in menswear at this point in history, but not enough to cause any real stir. 

“You ‘ere for Zira’s do?” One of them asked, casting Crowley a curious glance. “You look lost.”

“Er,” Crowley stammered, caught off-guard, “Y-yeah, I am. Just through here?” She pointed at the shop door like she hadn’t been through it hundreds of times and waited for the man who had spoken to nod before she made her way over to the entrance. Her mind spun a bit as she pushed at it. _Aziraphale was throwing a party?_

She had known the angel to _attend_ parties over the years, of course, for one reason or another. When it had been for work Crowley had nearly always been assigned there too, and they generally “interfered” in each other’s nefarious and/or righteous plans by ignoring their respective duties and having a perfectly pleasant evening together. Crowley also knew the angel liked to collect humans who showed a special talent for art and could occasionally be found at their parties; legends of a particularly risqué gathering put on by Oscar Wilde came to mind. But she had never known Aziraphale to host anything herself. It wouldn’t have been _angelic_ of her. 

The door swung open, and Crowley was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer _humanity_ in the room. The shop was packed nearly full of them. They clustered in little groups between the stacks, laughing and talking and sipping from mismatched glasses. It didn’t seem to be a formal affair, as Crowley had been half-expecting. Many of the people in here could have just come off a shift at the docks. Most of them echoed the just-slightly-off aspects in their clothing that the men outside had; even stranger, some of the women were dressed almost identically to the men. Crowley looked around at them all, wide-eyed, a little taken aback. Aziraphale didn’t like people near her books. She _especially_ didn’t like people with extremely spillable, inebriating beverages near her books. Seeing a whole crowd of them was odd enough to give Crowley pause.

A few curious faces turned towards her as she hesitated by the door. Their expressions weren’t hostile, per se, but they weren’t immediately friendly either. _Guarded,_ maybe. She hastily plastered on her most charming smile and walked up to a group at random, who turned to acknowledge her with polite but assessing smiles. She noted that they were an odd mix of ages and apparent walks of life. “Sorry, is Zira around?” She asked them, remembering the name the man outside had used. “I was hoping to talk to her.” 

One of the older men in the group gave her an appraising once over. “Vada this dolly palone-omi,” he said thoughtfully, apparently more to the rest of the group than to Crowley. “Zira’s trade, d’you think?[1](Polari) ” 

“Er--sorry?” Crowley’s smile faltered a little as the group broke off into slightly drunken titters. _What language was that?_ It had an odd, sing-songy cadence to it that Crowley didn't recognize.

One of the others in the group seemed to take pity on her. “Zira’s in the back, love,” she said, pointing deeper into the bookshop. “Talkin’ to Garrett, last time I saw her.”

“Thanks.” Crowley flashed her a grateful smile and nodded to the group before she turned away. She pushed her way through the crowd, scanning all the little nooks and crannies between the shelves she knew like the back of her hand at this point for any sight of Aziraphale among the throngs. There was something she was _missing_ here, Crowley was sure of it, but figuring out what would just have to wait.

Finally she spotted Aziraphale, near the very back of the store, indeed talking to a well-dressed man Crowley didn’t recognize. Despite all the fretting she’d done over this very moment, Crowley found herself entirely unprepared for the punch to the gut she felt upon seeing the angel again. Aziraphale was dressed in pretty much the same outfit she had been wearing since the late 1800s; a matronly, ruffled white blouse with a tan skirt, her hair carefully pinned up at the back of her head. She looked like someone taking part in a competition naming Britain’s fussiest librarian, and also like every wet dream Crowley had ever had. Again all the uncertainty and doubt from their last encounter welled up in Crowley’s chest and she stopped dead where she was, momentarily entangled in them.

Apparently Crowley’s staring was a little less than subtle because the man Aziraphale was speaking to, presumably Garrett, spotted her, and raised a curious eyebrow at her gawping. He said something Crowley couldn’t hear over the din to Aziraphale, who turned around.

The smile that lit up her face when she spotted Crowley standing there could have powered a small sun. Crowley's insides wobbled, and she couldn't quite smother the answering grin that threatened to overtake her at the sight.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale’s eyes were delighted, relieved. “You’re here! I had worried--that is, I had thought-- it’s good to see you.” For a few glorious moments they just looked at each other, grinning like sappy idiots in their mutual joy, the rest of the world falling away as all the things they couldn't say out loud hung in the air between them. 

Aziraphale's conversation partner coughed, his eyes twinkling, breaking the moment and making the both of them jump slightly. "I'll just leave you two alone, shall I?" He raised a teasing eyebrow at Aziraphale, who blushed.

"Oh, would you, dear?" She gave him an apologetic smile. "I’m afraid Crowley here and I have a bit of--" a quick glance in Crowley's direction, "--a bit of catching up to do."

He just laughed in response and swooped in to give Aziraphale a quick peck on each cheek. Something hot and twisting turned in Crowley's stomach at the sight. "Of course, darling. Come and find me later, yeah?" He gave Crowley a saucy wink and wandered off, striking up a conversation with another nearby group.

"Oh dear." Aziraphale was, if anything, even more flustered than before. "I do apologize about that. Garrett can be a bit... overzealous.” Her eyes fell to the half-forgotten bottle of scotch Crowley was still grasping. “Oh! You brought the good stuff. Here, let’s just grab a couple of glasses.” She steered Crowley even further back into the shop, opening the door to the little sitting-room they had often shared drinks in together. She bustled over to her drinks cabinet and began to rummage through it. 

Crowley watched her at it. She wanted to ask about Garrett, about the familiarity they had shared, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to do so without it coming out partially as a hiss. It was already a minor miracle that Aziraphale was willing to see her so soon. Ruining it by grilling her about her personal affairs just wouldn’t do, no matter how much the desire to know burned in the pit of her stomach. Instead she said, as-if casually, “Quite a shindig you’ve got going here, angel. What’s the occasion?” 

Aziraphale found the tumblers and set them down on the surface of the cabinet. She frowned slightly as she reached out her hand to take the bottle from Crowley’s hands. “I should have thought that was fairly obvious, my dear.”

Crowley’s brow creased in confusion. She racked her brains for anything she was missing, anything she might have forgotten, and came up blank. “Er. No? Did the humans come up with a new holiday I don’t know about again? Or I s’pose Lammas is in a couple of days, but this doesn’t seem like the crowd.”

Aziraphale was looking at her with something approaching bewilderment. “No, Crowley, it’s not a holiday. We’re celebrating the Act of Parliament that went through yesterday.” 

That hadn’t been at all what Crowley was expecting. She blinked. “Oh? I’ve, er, been a bit out of the loop the last week or so. _Business_ , you know [2](CrowleyLies). What’s happened?”

Aziraphale gave her a cool, assessing look, as though trying to figure out if Crowley was taking the piss or if she actually meant it. Apparently satisfied that she was sincere, she turned back to pour them each a healthy measure of scotch. “Yesterday, Parliament passed the Sexual Offences Act. It means that sexual activity between two men--or, more accurately, two people with penises, they haven’t _really_ caught on to the whole ‘gender’ concept quite yet--is no longer illegal under the eyes of the law. Today, we’re celebrating.” 

“Oh.” Crowley processed this. Her mind wandered back to the crowd outside, to their off-beat fashion and guarded attitude. She thought about the way Garrett had winked at her as he had walked off, immediately after having witnessed her grinning at Aziraphale like an idiot. “ _Oh!_ ” Her face flushed. 

Aziraphale handed her a glass of amber liquid, her face amused. “Did you really not know?” 

“I... had my suspicions.” Crowley lied, taking a hasty sip. It burned deliciously as it went down her throat and she shivered. “Er, congratulations? On getting it passed, I mean.”

Aziraphale took a sip of her own, smiling softly, and hummed appreciatively at the taste. “Thank you. I just wish it would have happened sooner.”

Crowley opened her mouth to ask a question (as she was wont to do), but they were interrupted by a man poking his head around the door.

“Zira? So this is where you got off to.” He looked Crowley up and down, appreciatively. “Can’t say I blame you.” Crowley and Aziraphale both sputtered slightly, and the man grinned at them unapologetically. “We were hoping you’d be ready to give your speech, love, ‘fore everybody gets too drunk to listen.” 

“Oh! Of course.” Aziraphale’s cheeks were burning, and not just with the scotch. “I’ll be right out.” 

He cast a wink in Crowley’s direction--something Crowley was rapidly growing used to-- and ducked back out of the room again. He left an awkwardness behind him, hanging thick in the air. “Well,” Aziraphale said, “I suppose I should get a wiggle on, then.” 

“Right.” Crowley agreed. They looked at each other for a moment, Aziraphale’s eyes full of some meaning Crowley couldn't quite parse, before Aziraphale cleared her throat. 

“Come on then.” They took their glasses and made their way back into the main room of the bookstore. This time, when Crowley looked, she was able to interpret more of the signs that her subconscious had been picking up on earlier: men with their arms draped casually over each others’ shoulders, around each others’ hips. Women in pressed trousers and ambiguously styled shirts. Snippets of conversations floating through the air to her in that same sing-song language. The crowd was growing noticeably more at ease as the night was wearing on, alcohol and familiar company and the sweet taste of victory making them all feel comfortable enough to let their guards down a little. Probably not a little bit of angelic interference either. Crowley glanced sideways at Aziraphale and wondered if the people here weren’t in just about the safest place they could ever be.

Heads turned towards them again quickly. Some called and waved to Aziraphale, a few even whistling or shooting unsubtly lascivious looks in their direction. Crowley wasn’t sure her cheeks could get any pinker. Aziraphale smiled back at them in her serene little way and started walking through the crowd, most definitely in her element. She seemed to know the name of every person they passed. People reached out to her, touched her arm and kissed her cheek like they knew her, and Crowley tried to ignore the stab of jealousy that returned to her at the sight. Not that she minded the angel having _friends_ , of course. She wasn’t _that_ kind of monster. It was jealousy that these humans got to do what she had been dreaming of for some long, got to touch her like old friends when her oldest friend of all could only dream of doing the same.

When they made it to the front, Garrett saw them and smiled. He had apparently found a milk crate somewhere and overturned it near the front window, arranging an impromptu stage for Aziraphale’s speech. He bowed dramatically at Aziraphale and gestured towards it. “Your podium, Madame.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes at the theatrics but smiled nonetheless. She accepted the hand he extended to help her up onto the crate, smoothing down the front of her skirt compulsively, and cleared her throat loudly enough to be heard. Those in the crowd that hadn’t already been looking at her quickly did so, nudges and pointing bringing the attention of the room to where Aziraphale stood over them all.

Crowley backed up a little to better merge into the audience. She nodded when Garrett did the same, coming to stand next to her among the little ring that had formed. 

Aziraphale fiddled with the scotch glass in her hands, smiling a bit self-consciously over everyone. “I would like to thank you all for coming today.” She started. “Some of you know who I am, or know someone who does. Many of you are strangers to me, which I hope very much to remedy before the night is over. Some of you are old friends,” her eyes lingered on Crowley, “and some of you are friends yet to be made. Either way, we are here for a singular purpose.”

She took a sip of her scotch. Crowley could tell she was nervous. She could read it in the way the angel held herself, the way her fingers couldn’t seem to stop moving. 

“As you all know,” Aziraphale continued, “yesterday Parliament passed an Act that will change the face of this country. It will change its heart, its very soul. And not a moment too soon, if I might add.” A general ripple of agreement echoed out across the collected crowd. “This act is not perfect. It is not the end of our struggle, nor does it guarantee that we will all be safe. It is not _enough_. But it is a step, and an important one, towards a better future. I would like to propose a toast, now, to that future, and to the many lives we have lost trying to achieve it.” 

She raised her glass into the air in front of her. The rest of the room followed suit, lifting various cups and mugs and bottles, a sombre silence settling over all of them. After the tiniest bit of hesitation, Crowley raised her own glass[3](ShesaBadDemon). Aziraphale brought her glass to her lips and again the crowd followed, drinking to memories Crowley could see etched on the faces of everyone present. Crowley herself thought of the humans she had known throughout the ages; she thought of Sappho, of Leonardo, even of Alexander, and let the scotch burn its way down her throat with images of them in her mind. From the look on Aziraphale’s face, Crowley could tell she was doing something very similar.

Crowley had expected that that would be the end of it, but the angel surprised her. After the toast, Aziraphale cleared her throat again and the crowd brought its attention back to her. She fiddled with her glass again, running her fingers across its bumps and grooves, eyes fixed on it rather than on her audience. “There is... something else I wanted to say, here, and I do hope you’ll indulge me for a moment.” She took a deep breath. “Those of you who know me are quite aware of my opinions in regards to the nature of sin.”

There were a few knowing chuckles, and next to her, Garrett snorted. Crowley’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline; this didn’t exactly seem like the time for a lecture on morality.

Aziraphale continued. “I feel that despite this victory, and perhaps even because of it, it might be time for a...reminder. A reminder that being different is not a sin. That being who you are, as our Creator made you, is not a sin. And that..."

She swallowed, seeming to lose her voice momentarily. Her eyes flickered to where Crowley stood. For a heartbeat Crowley thought she would look away again, avert her gaze, but she seemed only to grow bolder as she went on, "We have to remember that love, true, actual love, is _never_ a sin. No matter what society tells you. No matter what the... the powers that be say, _love is not a sin_. Not ever." 

Crowley's heart was clamouring frantically in her chest, its pulse beating in her ears. Surely the angel hadn't meant-- _couldn't_ have been implying--

Aziraphale’s eyes were still glued to Crowley's. "I know that a day will come when we can be free to express that love without fear of retribution. Without... shame. Perhaps not today, but someday. I swear it."

Crowley was certain she hadn't actually breathed in more than a minute. Everything in her world had narrowed down to her angel's piercing gaze, to the deep well of emotion she saw there. 

Aziraphale gave her the tiniest flicker of a smile and turned back to the crowd, who seemed equally enraptured by the angel's speech. "Well, I think that's quite enough from me. Thank you for listening to me go on. Now, I do believe someone brought a cake...?" 

And just like that, the moment was broken. Aziraphale stepped down and back into the welcoming arms of the partygoers, laughing as she was wrapped up in hugs from all sides. Crowley smiled despite herself to see it. It was good to see Aziraphale encircled by friends, surrounded by love, even if Crowley herself couldn't be the one giving it.

Garrett's quiet voice to her right broke her reverie. "She's told me about you, you know. About your families. How glad she is you came to be friends anyway.”

“Our families,” Crowley said, “er, right, yeah. It’s not... it’s not been easy for either of us. Even now.” They stood side-by-side and watched as Aziraphale was herded through the crowd and over to a table that had been loaded down with a truly monstrous cake.

“She means a lot to us all.” Garrett continued, still not looking at Crowley. “For years now the community has known that if they got in any trouble they could come to old Zira’s shop and she would make sure they got what they needed.”

 _Probably more years than you know_ , Crowley thought, though of course she said nothing.

“We all want to see her happy, see her loved. We had hoped that the ‘dear friend Crowley’ she spoke so highly about might be the one to do it?” Finally his gaze slid over to her, just slightly, the quirk of his lips letting her know it was an inquiry rather than a demand.

Crowley’s heart ached in her chest. She wanted to tell him that _of course_ she loved Aziraphale, so much so that it frightened her. She wanted to say that she would turn against the forces she had been aligned with for thousands of years, had already begun laying the groundwork, even, for the day she and the angel could finally be on their own side.

She couldn’t say any of that, of course. Instead, she said, “I... I can’t. You don’t understand, it’s not--I _can’t_.”

Garrett just nodded, serenely, and turned back to watch Aziraphale delicately carving up the cake and laughing while people squabbled over pieces. “You’re right, I don’t understand. And that’s okay. But can I ask you one question?” 

Crowley frowned, and nodded.

“Do you _want_ to?” Crowley stayed silent, not sure how to answer that. Garrett seemed to take her silence as enough of an answer, though, and smiled. “Well, I hope you figure it out. And, until then, I hope that you’ll stick around.” He offered her one last smile and a clap on the shoulder before he wandered off again, leaving her with her own thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled, more to herself than anything. She looked around at the people here, happy and hurting and full of love for each other. “Yeah, I think I will.” She pushed her way into the crowd again, determined to make her way to the angel’s side.

1\. Polari-- literally “Look at this pretty lesbian! Is she Zira’s [sexual] partner, do you think?” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polari [Back](Polari)

2\. This was a lie. She had spent the last week pacing back and forth in her flat, imagining the increasingly unrealistic and horrible ways this encounter could have gone wrong until she had exhausted herself and napped for almost two whole days. But she couldn’t tell Aziraphale that; she had an image to maintain.[Back](CrowleyLies)

3\. Toasting a better future for humanity was technically against her job description, but Crowley just didn’t have the heart not to in that moment. Besides, what Hell didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.[Back](ShesaBadDemon)

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley is such an oblivious gay mess and I adore her. FOR CONTEXT: homosexual acts between men had been considered a crime in England up until the passing of the Sexual Offenses Act of 1967, even in the privacy of individual homes. This Act decriminilaized same-sex acts specifically within the private sphere for men above the age of 21. Sex between women was never criminalized or in fact acknowledged in the law in any way.


End file.
